


The Great Nosgothic Bake Off - Dessert Week

by Lancre_witch



Category: Legacy of Kain, The Great British Bake Off RPF
Genre: (The same fic as before but marked as complete.), Gen, future installments aren't off the cards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:32:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lancre_witch/pseuds/Lancre_witch
Summary: Due to the fall of the Pillars, the next series of the GNBO was going to be cancelled, but fortunately at the last minute some replacements for the Guardians were found.Janos sat in the judges’ tent and cast his eye over the very pared down recipe. “Don’t you think this is a little difficult so early in the competition?”“Their souls have been trapped in immortal flesh for over a millennium. If in all that time the Lieutenants have not mastered all the arts of cookery, that of the fault of none but themselves.”





	The Great Nosgothic Bake Off - Dessert Week

**Introduction**

The camera panned in on a familiar field in Southern England and two looming green skinned figures.

Kain smiled in a somewhat unnerving manner and began, “Welcome to the new series of the Great Nosgothic Bake Off. We have new contestants-” a picture of the six lieutenants- “a new co-host-” Vorador nodded curtly- “and the same old judges.”

A jump-cut to the judges’ tent with Janos and the Elder God, and Vorador asked, “Sire, what are you looking forward to in this year’s Bake Off?”

“Well, it will be nice to have vampires back after so many centuries of human guardians.”

“Personally, I will be interested to see if the standard of cooking improves with the threat of annihilation, as the loser of this series will be cast into the Lake of the Dead,” The Elder God said.

“Wait, what?” Janos began just before the scene faded.

 

**Technical Challenge - Souffle**

 

Janos sat in the judges’ tent and cast his eye over the very pared down recipe. “Don’t you think this is a little difficult so early in the competition?”

“Their souls have been trapped in immortal flesh for over a millennium. If in all that time the Lieutenants have not mastered all the arts of cookery, that of the fault of none but themselves.”

He nodded and passed the Elder God's notes to the hosts.

 

Kain’s sons stood in a ragged line outside the tent, then stood to attention at the sight of their elders.

“Melchiah, Zephon, into the tent,” their sire said ominously.

Rahab started to follow, but was blocked by Vorador. “Not you. The rest of you will wait out here.”

Once in the intimidatingly empty tent, Melchiah and Zephon stared at Kain as he said, “Janos and the Elder God want you to make them soufflés. Four of them. The Elder God has the following advice he wished me to pass on to you: ‘Don’t fail me.’”

With that ominous phrase, Vorador joined him in uttering the fateful words, “On your marks, get set, bake!”

The contestants scurried to their stations and Melchiah immediately started panicking. “Step 1: make a crème patissiere. That’s it.”

“I don’t like this,” Zephon muttered as he painted butter into his ramekins. “I don’t like this at all.”

Melchiah had been too busy whipping his egg whites to see the looks of horror on Rahab and Dumah’s faces when they were told exactly what they would be making. Television audiences also wouldn’t see on account of what Dumah said immediately afterwards was considered unsuitable for family viewing.

Zephon carefully ran a claw around the edge of each soufflé and put them in the oven. Short of anything else to do, he started pacing, resisting the urge to open the oven door and check on them.

As soon as his own were cooking, Melchiah walked over to watch his brothers. He didn’t think he could take seeing Zephon look in his oven again. “Rahab, why are you freezing your ramekins?”

“So the butter sets quickly. I want to get two layers of sugar on to prevent any chance of sticking.”

“The… butter. Sticking,” he repeated distantly. “Oh.”

Trying to distract himself from what may have been a horrible mistake, he glanced over to see Zephon opening his oven door again and then on to Dumah who was beating the eggs to within an inch of their life.

“Whip the egg whites until they are thick enough to not fall out when inverted,” Dumah read. He upended the bowl over Melciah’s head and nodded in satisfaction.

“Melchiah!” Kain shouted. “Two minutes until the judges want your soufflé!”

At last, he opened his oven and cringed slightly at the light, airy, golden brown, utterly lopsided soufflés.

“Oh dear,” Vorador murmured as he took them off him for judging.

Not wanting to hear the susurration of their whispering, Melchiah found himself walking back towards Zephon’s station. He was not in the best frame of mind to hear him cures as the soufflés collapsed from one door opening too many.

As Vorador carried the deflated offerings to the judges, Kain herded Raziel and Turel into the tent. Turel’s ears drooped when he heard the word soufflé, and Raziel’s shoulders slowly slumped further the longer he stared at their meagre instructions, contriving to make himself look even smaller than he was. After whimpering a little, he pulled himself together and started preparing the ramekins. On his way to the freezer, he got showered in crème pat from Dumah’s ‘gentle folding’ of the mixture. Muttering something about oafish brothers, he began angrily mixing egg whites.

Kain looked around at the barely organised chaos. Rahab was whisking in the first of his crème pat, Raziel was glaring at his mixing bowl as if it had personally offended him, Dumah was all but throwing his mix into the ramekins, but Turel was unreasonably calm. That simply wouldn’t do.

“Worried, Turel?”

“No Sire.”

“So you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes Sire.”

“You’re going to win then, are you?”

“I hope so, Sire.”

Kain nodded and left, casually turning an oven knob on the way past.

 

“Judging your technical this week was difficult, because, how can I say it?” Janos began, wondering how to broach the topic.

“Your puddings have been tasted, tested, and found wanting. None of you are worthy,” the Elder God boomed.

“Now, now, that’s a little harsh, but I’m afraid there were issues with all of your bakes. Sixth place goes to this one.” Janos pointed out a tray of sad, stodgy puddings and Rahab timorously raised his hand. “Undercooked, which is a pity because it was well mixed and very regular.”

Rahab nodded. “The time constraints were an issue for me.”

“Indeed they were. This is not the first time we have found you wanting in this regard. Next,” the Elder God continued ominously, “we have these. Overmixed and flat. Who is responsible?”

Dumah glared at him and gave a single sharp nod of acknowledgement.

Slightly unnerved, Janos moved on to the next lot – Zephon’s deflated soufflés – and gently explained the dangers of opening the oven door before time.

The baker in third place was asked for and raised his hand.

“Raziel. You have disappointed me. Your batter was under mixed, resulting in small pieces of meringue throughout your soufflés-”

“I like meringue,” Kain interjected, earning a glare from the Elder God.

“Be that as it may, the proper place for it is not in a soufflé.”

Apparently oblivious to the fight breaking out behind him, Janos continued with the judging. “It was very difficult to decide between first and second place. Both achieved a good rise and a smooth, regular consistency, but one was overcooked and the other lopsided. After much deliberation,” he continued, raising his voice over the cries of ‘false god,’ ‘despotic tyrant,’ and similar, “We have decided that the winner of this technical challenge is – these.” He pointed to the misshapen soufflés, and Melchiah raised his hand and grinned.


End file.
